


Snapshot Symphony

by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Families of Choice, Family Feels, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee/pseuds/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, every hundredth of a second.” <br/>― Marc Riboud</p>
<p>Jim doesn't have many mementos from his past, but he has decades of photographs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshot Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little ficlet while I flail around trying to finish the FIVE much-longer AUs I've inadvertently started since I last posted on here...
> 
> Sigh. 
> 
> Also, I've seen Star Trek Beyond twice now and it is incredible and awesome.

There weren't many mementos left from Jim's childhood, Winona wasn't sentimental like that - she didn't save things once they'd outlived their usefulness. The only real concession she made to the need to document the passage of time was photographs.

Jim remembered being very small, sitting on his mother's lap with her arms bracketing his head, the steering wheel inches from his nose, Sam gloating in the passenger seat because he was a big boy and he got to have his own seatbelt. The car was old - smelled of rust and age and something his mother told him was oil. Ancient history, an antique. The backseat was eaten up with duffle bags and the occasional suitcase - their whole lives packed up and shipped out. Sam said they moved a lot when Jim was really little, drifting from Starfleet outpost to Starfleet outpost - almost all on earth, all sedentary, temporary teaching positions and temporary engineering projects, temporary everything really.

Honestly, looking back as an adult, Jim sort of understood why Sam was so horrible to him when they were small children. From Sam's perspective he'd sent off his mommy and daddy to space and mommy came back with no daddy and new little brother who was sick or crying all the time and then to top it all off they moved. Again and again and again until finally, like Winona, like their tiny family was a planet in ellipsoidal orbit, and Riverside was the sun, their orbit finally narrowed and they came back to Iowa when Jim was maybe seven.

(Jim remembered it was seven, actually, remembered Grandma Kirk tearing down the driveway, bearing down on mom like a photon torpedo, only stopping her charge when she was close enough to to start smacking her with a dish towel, shouting "Seven years, goddammit!" Over and over again until they both abruptly burst into tears like dams breaking, like empires falling, and collapsed into a violent, desperate hug.)

But yeah, one of Jim's earliest memories was sitting on his mother's lap as she drove, her seatbelt pulling him right against her chest, and he telling Sam to "Take some photos, Sammy, record everything" while Sam obediently snapped pictures because he was a big boy with an important job who got to ride in the passenger seat. It was a rare, golden afternoon where Sam was cheerful and Mom was chatty.

"Your grandfather Jim and I used to do this," she said, "When I was little. We moved around a lot, lived all over earth. Lived all over the universe, actually, we shipped out to a bunch of bases and things, fixing stuff. I used to think he was important, the boss or something, because whenever there was a problem, there was my dad and his crew, fixing it. I didn't realize until later that it was grunt work, manual labor, stuff it was cheaper to hire bodies to do than 'bots. He was a mechanic. Didn't even have a degree. Worked himself to death, but by god was he proud of me and your daddy. Came to our graduation, cheered when I walked across the stage. Taught me how to curse in seven languages and fix anything and throw a decent punch and how to know when too much whiskey is too much whiskey.

"He was obsessed with photos. Had me take pictures of everywhere we went and everything we saw it did. Loved the ordinary stuff, the beat-up, discarded things. Said they were beautiful. I don't know about that."

Jim guessed she stared into space for awhile, because the memory got quiet and fuzzy from there and eventually faded out to the sound of Sam shouting about some weird old ruin he saw out the window.

So there wasn't much of substance left from Jim's childhood, but there were hundreds, thousands of pictures.

...

"You ever get sick of photographin' every damn thing you see?"

"Nope! Smile, Bones!" "Dammit, Jim, get that thing outta my face."

"Technically this is your fault, you got me an antique camera for Christmas."

"And lord help me, I've been regrettin' that decision every day since."

...

"Hey, Uhura!"

" _What_ , Jim?"

"Smile!"

"What on earth?"

...

Uhura looks lovely as usual in her photo, brown eyes lit up with fond exasperation, full lips curling into a smile that is half grimace, half strangled laughter.  Her ponytail arcs away from her back in a sleek dark swirl as she turns towards Jim, her active, elegant hands raised, halfway to doing something amazing at her workstation, frozen forever as potential.  

...

"Sulu, Chekhov, look busy!"

"Keptin?"

"Aw, you moved, now it's all blurry. That's okay, that's what's cool about low-tech, it's authentic!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"It means, Sulu, my man, that Chekhov is a gold smear and you just look confused in this picture."

"Then delete it."

"Nope, I'm keeping it forever! Thanks, guys!"

...

Chekhov  _is_ gold smear and Sulu does look confused.  But Pavel's face is turned towards the camera, and his mouth is open and his eyes are bright as he almost says something, but doesn't quite make it before the digital shutter clicks.  Hikaru is looking at him like an older brother who still hasn't decided if he's too old to play whatever silly games his little siblings are trying to drag him into.  It feels very real.

...

"Scotty!"

"What the feckin' hell? Where'd you come from, then?"

"Aw, that's perfect!"

"What?" "Thanks!"

"..."

"..."

"You know what that's about, Keenser?"

"..."

"Nah, I thought not. Odd fellow, the Captain."

...

Scotty's shouting and Keenser's halfway out of the frame, just his head sticking into the image from behind his vociferous boss.  They make a nice contrast - Scotty's hands, gesticulating wildly, Keenser's stillness, a wrench held in a small alien hand, ready to hit whatever fiddly things aren't working.  

...

"GET YOU AND YOUR DAMN CAMERA OUTTA MY GODDAMN SICKBAY!"

"Killjoy!"

...

Jim has many, many pictures of Bones.  It's the doctor's own fault, really; it's just so easy to get him riled up once the camera comes out, and he makes the most hilarious faces.  This photo has Bones charging at him, full of vinegar and vitriol as M'Benga and Christine share amused glances and hidden smiles behind his back and the junior crew member in boibed one tries to make a break for it, but is stopped by Christine's iron grip on the back of his uniform shirt.

... 

"Captain."

"Yes, Spock?"

"It has come to my attention that you have been photographing the crew in their, shall we say, natural environments. It is my understanding that I am next."

"Next for what?"

"To be harassed for a photo. So in a attempt at a preemptive strike, I present myself to you for photographing."

"Oh, don't worry about it, although, I'll take a picture anyway, precious moments and all, but I've already got a Spock-photo."

"How did you come to acquire such a thing without my knowledge?"

"That's my secret. Now hold still, and raise an eyebrow or something."

...

The photo of Spock was easy to get, really. He gets way too focused on each move in their nightly chess games, especially when Jim is winning. In this particular picture, the viewports behind Spock are uncovered, the curtains drawn away to reveal the brilliant light of a nebula just outside the window, backlighting Spock, illuminating his profile in seaside greens and golds, until his dark eyes seem to glow from within and his pale skin shines with borrowed light. He is furrowing his brow, staring down the chessboard as if it, as if it, not Jim, is the opponent to be vanquished here. His lips are pursed together and his eyebrows draw down in silent concentration, but if one looks, very closely, one can almost see the microscopic uptick at the corner of his mouth where he hides a laugh at something absurd Jim has just said or done.

...

Jim smiles to himself and walks away from a bewildered Spock whistling. He wonders if he could sneak a photo of the whole team at breakfast tomorrow morning before a cranky, pre-coffee Bones tries to take his camera away for the fiftieth time.

It's worth a try. Precious moments and all that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
